a long moment ago dismissed the
 notion of independent movement

prose
editorial
art & photo
submissions


Current
    
    
I. Movement of a goat into night's stomach
     II.  bookbinding
     III. everywhere our amphitheater

           by Ryan Chighizola

   Everyday Icarus
          by Michael Levell

   
If Language; Space-Bound / Time-Spell
         by Soma Feldmar

A Book of Magicks
by John Patsynski

Heroic or Not
by Curtis Evans

Memoriam of Hunter S.

the grinder

spoken/performance

The forgeries

nothing is especially analogous,
well I know
the felt melding of an inner ear.
I must go very softly into
wolf fluttered poems touched
with intelligent aside.  Hurry
thoughts, wet first series.
Chalk wall knocks them from
dying mollified in tedious sex.
scene done in Blue wind.
Come here with night falls in
weakened rawboned data.
I let long young child's tree
and consisted nowhere in odious need.
Consciousness translated- see inside for details.
Volumes of perplexity in Jailbird nausea.
New dreams,
revised




lagged she and her sleep, sleep
himself does anything to roll assets
 raising contrivance.
Meanings shoulder the sky
androgynous, liquid, happy and
eat fifth avenue nothing.
So skimpy to my right perishing sexual

The author gratefully acknowledges
finding her absent by
avoiding the error of believing
laughter.  fuel sandwich,
was first presented and
I was in an extraordinary position theologically
all soft, all gently breathless, leaving me
benefit, favor, gain, profit even in
the water gray and dead calm.
Bulges hearts by darts pierced lazily writhe
audacious, on, still, looking, next, I, time, incitement
eats sparks.


Of course who sea her eyes investigate
the trouble with speaking.
She clenched celebration
of meat at the same time as
I can still see only
impulsive orientation.

she softly darkness

and fell upon suffering
recalling looks at barren territory,
its still sleep and
withdrawal nighmares
and the buds are out
ear searing.



The term actually forgot failure
simply because remorse in painting
a public camera.
Missing a kick without ever
pointing principle between its neglect
and bitter glory to the god.
my webs tight
depicted in paint.

Devoid of the self
arising from this thinking
the present again, the voice
into the wagon trumpet call

we have seen come to late
long remorse applied white.

Less it lingers all around,
denies illuminations,
cultures run into return.








To know themselves
to be needed
long shots.
To answer it,
it can be stated:
two old tramps,
all men,
sell their beauty in the
silence of the night.
Into the making
of my new clothes.

Rabbit in your headlights are
devils really angels freeing
wet worms coughed between stations.

on at least two levels,
exclamation,
as broad as
an element
in the ancient temple,
her eye in a newspaper
should
make you think.
Away,
she just
brought to an end lungs

filled up with two thousand
old professor lithographs.
Save me 
some word painting
breathing low.